


Devil's Food Cake (Snape in Waiting)

by Jay Tryfanstone (tryfanstone)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternative Universe - Canon, Dark!Harry, M/M, Post canon, after the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:22:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryfanstone/pseuds/Jay%20Tryfanstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the honesty of his old age Snape will allow himself absolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil's Food Cake (Snape in Waiting)

In the honesty of his old age Snape will allow himself absolution.

He might have cooked for Harry Potter. May have dipped a strawberry in chocolate, concocted a sundae, baked a cake. "That's right. Sevvie. Just how I like it. Come here - you've been licking the spoon, haven't you?"

May it pierce him where the sun doesn't shine. 

Maybe he did dress in silk. Maybe, sometimes, his palms remember the long smooth slide of leather against his skin. Maybe he did brush his hair, one hundred strokes, every morning. "Kneel down. Tilt your head. I love the feel of your hair in my hands. It's like silk, look at it gleam in the firelight. Bend your head for me."

May it choke him in his sleep.

Maybe he did wait, quill in hand, unmoving, for the step on the flagstones. Maybe his body thrilled to the sound of the wards breached and the creak of the door. Maybe his breath came shorter, maybe - "Honey, I'm home" - he lived his days in waiting for the affirmation of the night. 

May the nightmares ride his dreams.

Maybe he has brewed strange scented oils for overheated baths. Maybe he has brushed dried rose petals from his skin. Maybe he knows the sound of his own voice fractured and wavering. "Please..." "Oh, but you love it when I tease you. Roll over. I'm starting again from the top." Maybe, once in a while, he has spread his legs on satin sheets and begged.

Remember the sound of my voice. Remember it well, while you can, my bonnie boy, my sweetling. 

In the honesty of his old age Snape will allow himself contentment. There is a price to be paid for domestic bliss, and it has been paid to the very last drop of blood. Snape's library is pristine, his floorboards gleaming, his hearth swept. His rank is unassailable.

"Just for me," Snape might have said, once, a very long time ago. "I...don't ask you for too much, do I?"

Maybe it was a ring he asked for, a book, a seventh son's quest. Does it matter?

From Dark Lord's right hand he sees no-one left who dares ask.  



End file.
